


foreign and wanted territory

by rosebarsoap



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 19:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17209130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosebarsoap/pseuds/rosebarsoap
Summary: the commander takes initiative.





	foreign and wanted territory

Of course, she's not opposed to him pushing her against the wall. And she's _certainly_ not complaining that her wrists are trapped under his wide grip, all five fingers on his hand holding tight to her like she'll slip out the door if he doesn’t.  


(Not that she'd leave, anyway.)  


And she's _definitely_ not enjoying that blush that spreads from the tips of his wonderful ears across his wonderful face, that creeps down his wonderful neck, that gives away how wonderfully out of character this is for him. Nope. Liar.  


He surges forward and her head thunks against the wall as he kisses her, insistently, feverishly, but she feels his fingertips shake as he cups her face, thumb on her cheekbone, heart in his throat.  


Cullen Rutherford, overwhelmed. _Overwhelmed_.  


Lady Trevelyan has never seen him anything other than at least _whelmed_ before. Smart and poised and Commander Cullen, across from her at the war table and constantly frowning, red-faced. She attributed it to frustration or stress, all this time.  


Perhaps, when she frantically searched for something across the war table and chattered about her latest venture out to the Western Approach, where she thought her anecdote made no sense as she and whirled to gauge his reaction, his slack-jawed, pink-cheeked self wasn’t out of anger, but… Something else.  


She decides to think about it later.  


He lets go of her hands and she dares to test the waters and move, her cool palm on his warm neck; the gooseflesh that shivers beneath her touch tells her that she's doing just fine. Cullen’s forehead finds her shoulder as he pulls from her lips with a pop, his breathing heavy, out of time with her own panting.  


“Forgive me. I— I don’t know what came over me.”  


His voice murmurs apology but his body pleads for more; he doesn’t move from her shoulder, hands nervously on her hips.  


“Apparently finding where the Darkspawn are coming from set something off,” she laughs, and Cullen’s quiet chuckle sends the urge for her fingers to card through his hair. He hums, slowly leaning up to look her in the eye.  


“I’ve never… done that before. I mean, I— I have, but not to you, even if I thought abo— Maker’s breath,” he stutters, looking down at his boots when she flushes as red as his tunic. “I certainly didn’t mean to be so _forward_ , Inquisitor.”  


“Well… _I_ liked it.”  


His brow raises, but the devilish smile reveals otherwise. “Oh, _did_ you now?”  


Lady Trevelyan traces a finger along his jawline, stopping at his chin and pulling him forward, a whisper away from her smirking self. His confidence slides his hands up to her waist, pulling her against his chest. (And ridiculous ruffled collar thing. She _has_ to find a way to get that off.)  


“In fact, Commander… I wouldn’t be opposed to you doing it _again_ , if you are so inclined.”  


Cullen’s laugh rumbles against her front and he leans into her, stubble from his cheek grazing her and he gently presses his lips to the spot… before he moves down to her chin, the slope of her neck, and he grins against her skin when she shudders.  


“As you wish.”


End file.
